


Defining Vegetarianism

by flowers_your_way



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Depression, Emotionally Hurt Sam Winchester, Episode: s15e04 Atomic Monsters, Gen, Hell Trauma, Post-Lucifer's Cage Sam Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester, Sad Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester Has PTSD, Season/Series 15 Spoilers, Vegetarians & Vegans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 17:47:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21602431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowers_your_way/pseuds/flowers_your_way
Summary: "Sam doesn’t want his brother to worry. He doesn’t want him to know how much he still hurts sometimes. Sam can’t figure out how to tell Dean the truth. Does the term “trauma- selective vegetarianism” even exist in the English language? Probably not."15x04 Atomic Monsters Coda.  A look into Sam's state of mind right after his nightmare and the events of the previous episode.  Also, why he will only eat vegetarian bacon.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 140





	Defining Vegetarianism

**Author's Note:**

> So much quality fan fiction inspiring Sam content this season! I'm loving it. I might be over analyzing but I couldn't get past the part in the beginning where Sam said he doesn't eat bacon. It felt like more than just a health decision to me. Anyways, hope you enjoy!

He doesn’t know why he gets like this sometimes; why the smell of meat alone is enough to have him wanting to vomit on some days. Other days, Dean’s burgers sound better than sex. He would like to believe it’s really a toss up.

Surely, the smell of dead burning meat wafting down the hallway making him nauseous has nothing to do with the fact he just woke up from killing his own brother. Nothing at all. Just a coincidence.

It’s half past 10 and he is still dead tired but he forces his feet to move, one step at a time, towards the kitchen. He puts his hand on the door knob and wonders why his heart is beating so fast. He has walked all of four steps since waking and he already feels out of breath. But he squeezes his eyes shut, inhales sharply, and shakes his head before opening his bedroom door to walk to the kitchen. Part of him wishes he was still in bed. His whole body hurts, shoulder throbbing constantly. His feet feel heavy. In fact, everything feels heavy. 

He wonders if that is an unknown side effect of finding out that everything in your life has always been staged. 

But still, he walks. Dean is in the kitchen. Cas isn’t. Jack isn’t. Mom isn’t. Rowena isn’t. To make a long list short, he and Dean clearly need each other. He has to be there for Dean even if he can’t be there for anybody else. Himself included. 

And Dean looks up when he walks in the kitchen. He’s definitely not happy. They both haven’t been happy in a long time but he could swear Dean’s face lightens when he meets his eyes. 

“Morning.”

“Morning.” 

He hates making his brother worry. Sometimes he wishes he could be like Dean. He wishes he could just go kill something when he was feeling down. He wishes he could shove his feelings down behind beer and bacon and the facade of not caring. But then he remembers how that has worked for him in the past. Sam is scared of his capacity for rage and he distrusts his indifference. His brain won’t let him cope that way right now.

So when he walks in the kitchen, he feels more weary than he has in a long time. His bones creak. His soul aches. The goddamn bacon is clogging his nostrils. Dean munching down on it is difficult to listen to, difficult to watch. The crunching and the smell only serves to magnify his headache. As much as he hates to worry Dean, he knows he is doing a poor job of hiding his misery when he asks, “Rough night?”

“Yeah, just, uh weird dreams.” 

“Why don’t you eat something? You’ll feel better.” And Sam could almost laugh at Dean’s unfailing belief that food solves everything.

“Dean you know I don’t eat…” Sam realizes mid-sentence that isn’t the truth. Dean knows how Sam couldn’t eat any sort of meat right after his brain was scattered into pieces and Lucifer was more than just a memory. Dean knows that just the smell of grease while he was doing the trials was enough to send him into a vomiting frenzy for hours. He doesn’t know how the trauma lingers, how it flares up like a bad case of the shingles at the most random times. Dean has no idea that Sam doesn’t eat bacon on mornings like _this._

Sam guesses it’s his fault really. Dean never heard the details of hell. He never learned of the fact that Sam still sees _his_ true face behind his eyelids at night. Only one person would ever understand his helplessness. Rest her soul. Sam doesn’t want his brother to worry. He doesn’t want him to know how much he still hurts sometimes. Sam can’t figure out how to tell Dean the truth. Does the term “trauma- selective vegetarianism” even exist in the English language? Probably not. 

Dean interrupts his train of thought.

“It’s veggie bacon.”

“What?” 

“Yeah you’ve been asking for it.”

“But every time I ask for it, you say, and I’m quoting ‘I don’t want any of that hippie, Sarah McLaughlin grass-eater crap in the Meat Man’s kitchen’.”

He finds it hard to believe Dean would compromise his “meat morals” without knowing about Sam’s trauma and he also is tired of Dean’s aggressive aversion to anything without killer amounts of cholesterol. 

“Which, by the way, for what it’s worth, you have to quit calling yourself The Meat Man. It doesn’t mean what you think it means.” Sam chides, trying to keep the banter going even as the smell of meat threatens to choke him out of the kitchen. Dean looks confused for a moment and it makes the effort it took to speak almost worth it.

“Yeah it does. Anyway, it’s not that bad. Give it a shot.” 

Sam appreciates his brother’s concern but the thought of eating has him feeling nauseous. “I’m good.”

“No, you’re not.” And the honesty in Dean’s voice is jolting. He’s not being mean or accusatory. He is just stating a simple fact. His gaze is piercing when he finally looks up to stare Sam in the eyes. It’s almost as if he is trying to get Sam to admit what he just spoke. “The past few days, you’ve barely come out of your room.”

That’s it. Sam cannot hold the eye contact. It’s as if Dean’s gaze is so open, so honest, so _sharp_ that it will cut open the string he has bundled tight around his emotions. He looks to the side and the floor, feeling like a coward. 

But Dean isn’t done. “Look, man, I get it, okay? With Jack and Rowena… Rowena knew what she was getting herself into. She knew what needed to be done.” Why won’t Dean just stop? Let him be? With each name, he feels himself unravel a little more. There’s a lump rising in his throat. He hopes the pressure of his tongue pressed against his cheek is enough to rebuild the dam he built between him and his emotions. 

He manages to choke out words finally and briefly look Dean in the eyes. “Doesn’t make it any easier.” He needs to make sure Dean understands. He knew Rowena was never an innocent but she still shouldn’t have to die. He shouldn’t have had to kill her. But there is a lot of “shouldn’t” scenarios in Sam’s life. For example, he “shouldn’t” be this bothered by the sight of the bacon strips in front of him when he was eating cheeseburgers just last week.

“No it doesn’t.” He can tell his brother is looking for more words. He isn’t ready to let the conversation drop. Sam sips his coffee and pretends he doesn’t notice. He doesn’t offer Dean any bridges to travel down in that direction. Thank goodness his brother finally gives it up. He tries to listen attentively as Dean starts describing a case that he is sure he is about to get dragged into. His bones still ache and his heart is so heavy that he doesn’t think he has the energy to interact with another living soul right now. Even just talking to Dean is draining. 

But Dean insists that he goes. He won’t take no for an answer so Sam relents. Maybe getting out will help but he doubts it.

He also still doubts that the bacon is vegetarian but he has to try to eat something especially if he is going to be working a case. Besides, the smell of meat could all just be in his head. Isn’t that icing on top of the cake? After all these years, he still can’t trust his own head. Nightmares and olfactory hallucinations are apparently what he is comprised of. So, not trusting his own senses, Sam takes a careful bite.

And it is most definitely not veggie bacon.

He is sputtering and wishing he had trusted his instincts. By the time he has spit the bacon out, the damage is already done. He can smell flesh burning. While he usually doesn’t mind bacon, this tastes nothing like bacon. And he knows it’s all in his head, that Dean was just playing a joke. He feels something akin to sensory overload but not quite as extreme. He tries to keep his expression neutral with a side of annoyance. He doesn’t need Dean to worry or feel guilty, but his discomfort is too significant for him to ignore.

“That’s REAL BACON!” He yells.

“Damn right it is! Meat man!”

And despite the lingering tastes and smells, he feels solid in the moment. Dean’s voice and presence keep him grounded. He knows his discomfort is extremely mild compared to what it would’ve been all those years ago. He is intact enough to be slightly angered and give his brother the signature bitch face. 

Sam thinks briefly, as Dean retreats, that he should tell someone about the PTSD that he is sure that he has. He should tell them about the dreams that won’t let him sleep. He should tell them about the smells and tastes that trap him when he least expects it. He should tell them about how every slamming door and every fist on a table and even a laugh that is just a bit too loud makes him flinch. 

But he doesn’t. He keeps his mouth shut. Times are too tough right now for anyone to think he is the least bit weak. While it would be nice to avoid the triggers, he doesn’t want Dean to feel like he is walking on eggshells around him.

There is a job to be done. No time to linger. Sam grips the table and steels himself for what he is sure will be another disappointing day. He rises from the table and follows Dean’s retreating form towards the bedrooms and wishes he could just go back to bed. The sooner he can go back to bed, the sooner it will be tomorrow and maybe he will feel better tomorrow.

Maybe. Just maybe.

Tomorrow.

Yeah, tomorrow he will feel better.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you liked it please leave a kudos or a review!


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